Category Archives: stroke
struck by a stroke
It’s been a funny week. Last year, every day was dominated by my mum’s stroke – either in the practical arrangements of travelling constantly to Belfast with a newborn and two children, or the emotional – the sheer pain and … Continue reading
Letters of Love
This weekend, when I went up to Belfast to look after my mum, my dad had left a big box in my room. I looked inside, and found my life story. The smell of age and nostalgia mingled with tissue … Continue reading
The bearable darkness of being
It’s nearly a year since my baby was born. And nearly a year since my mum had her catastrophic stroke. Undeniably the worst, saddest, most challenging, gut wrenching, heart tearing, mind wrecking year of my life. The sheer awfullness of … Continue reading
Family Friends
When you become a parent you don’t think that your children will start having an influence on who you become friends with. But they do! One of my best friends is the mum of Daisy’s best friend. How weird is … Continue reading
Birthday love
Today is my mum’s birthday. As she lies locked in her body and mind in Belfast, for the first time in probably 15 years I won’t be spending the day with her. Since I had children, she would come down … Continue reading
Pain and pleasure
We’ve just returned from our family week in Ballyvaughan in the Burren on the West Coast of Ireland. The family week we have every year with my mum and dad, my brother and his family, and me and mine. The … Continue reading
Lasting Firsts
Like everything in my life at the moment, two ends of the spectrum run in parallel – sometimes so close, the lines lie against each other, indeterminate, entwined, indistinguishable. My mum needs caring in the same way as my baby. … Continue reading
Grown up love
I’m so proud of them. No, I’m not talking about our girls – although they make me so proud there isn’t a blog host or an internet range large enough to hold the stuff I could write about them. No, … Continue reading
Who’s the Mummy?
I’ve written before about that fuzzy old line that defines (or not) who is the child and who is the parent. In the last four months as my mum lies permanently entangled in her half-life post-stroke, I spoon feed her, … Continue reading
Sliding doors of life….
Even before the film Sliding Doors appeared, I often lived parallel lives. As a child, at unhappy times, I would literally live another life in my head, while my real life carried on. (Often this other life involved lots of … Continue reading